There was no conversation. No coordination. Darcy simply ran, his thoughts urging him on faster. He almost picked Miss Catherine up so that he didn't have to match what felt to him as her exceedingly slow pace. He glanced over at Bingley running by his side, the man's usual happy countenance replaced by a look of dread and anger. Darcy's terror, anger, and guilt fought for dominance, and terror won.
Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, had been struck by that scoundrel. Even now she could be…
He couldn't think it. He wouldn't. His throat was already so tight that it was hard to catch his breath.
A flash of red.
Darcy, Bingley, and Miss Catherine came through the trees and onto the horrible scene.
Darcy distantly heard Bingley cry out in dismay, heard Miss Catherine's wail, but he never slowed.
He ran full force into Wickham, slamming the dastard into the nearest tree. Darcy's hands were around Wickham's throat, the smaller man's feet dangling inches above the ground. Wickham's face turned red and he pulled at Darcy's arms, kicking at his legs.
Darcy felt none of it. All he could see was Elizabeth's still form, her skirts hiked up, and this man, this creature, looming above her, exposed and about to…
"Lizzy, Lizzy, please wake up. Please," Darcy heard Miss Catherine sob as she tried to regain her sister's modesty.
Wickham's face was a dark purple now, his lips moving as if to beg for his worthless life.
"She's cold," Miss Catherine said, her voice hollow.
Darcy turned away from the creature long enough to see the girl clutching Elizabeth's limp hand to her face.
No. No, Elizabeth could not be…
"She's dead," Lydia said, her voice soft and thready as she leaned on Bingley for support. His eyes were averted, looking anywhere but at Elizabeth's torn form.
There was a crunch from between his hands, and Darcy turned back to see the creature dangling lifelessly.
He dropped it, stepping back so as not to have the thing touch him.
"D-Darcy," Bingley looked between him and the thing, his eyes wide and face pale, "You… You killed him?"
Darcy met his eyes and Bingley took a step back, swallowing hard.
Darcy knelt beside Elizabeth. He slid one hand under her shoulders and the other under her legs and lifted her into his arms. She was light and soft and cold and limp.
He walked with her, following Bingley and the two sisters. He said nothing. He saw nothing. Only her dark hair across his arm, her pale profile nestled against his chest. His Elizabeth.
-000-
"Mama!" Kitty and Lydia cried together as they emerged from the woods, abandoning Mr. Bingley's escort to run to their mother's side.
"Oh, my dear girls! What has happened?" Mrs. Bennet clucked as she ran her hands over her weeping daughters' hair.
"Mr. Bingley?" Jane said, stepping forward from her father's side, "Where are Lizzy and Mr. Darcy? What has happened?"
Bingley stepped forward and took her hands. He glanced over at Mr. Bennet and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a croak. He shook his head, looking down.
"Lizzy?!" Mr. Bennet cried out, spying Mr. Darcy's dark form as he emerged slowly from the woods carrying a heavy burden in his arms. Mr. Bennet took two steps forward and stopped, one hand over his mouth and the other over his heart.
Mr. Darcy had looked up at his shout, and it took no more than a glance at Mr. Darcy's face for Mr. Bennet to know the worst.
The typically stoic Mr. Darcy was crying.
"No, oh, no!" Jane choked out, looking between her sister's still form and Mr. Bingley's downcast eyes. She fell into Bingley's arms, sobbing.
"Lizzy?" Mrs. Bennet's querulous voice was curiously subdued. She looked down at her weeping daughters and felt her legs give out from under her. Mrs. Bennet sat in the dirt before her home, clutching her two youngest daughters to her.
"My daughter is…" she covered her mouth to stop the words, shaking her head as tears fell from her eyes.
Mr. Darcy just stood there, looking down as tears dripped continually from his eyes.
At last, someone moved. Mary grasped her sister's limp hand and tucked it back against her body.
"She should be laid…" Mary's voice broke and she coughed, "I mean, please follow me, Mr. Darcy, and we will make her… comfortable."
When he didn't respond, Mary hesitantly wrapped her hand around Mr. Darcy's upper arm and pulled him gently towards the house.
He followed her up the steps and she opened the door to her elder sisters' room. Mary stood to one side, allowing Mr. Darcy to carefully lay Elizabeth on the bed. Mary stepped forward, blushing at the torn gown and straightening it as best she could. She swallowed back tears again and again as she tried to arrange her battered sister's clothing.
Mr. Darcy still stood near the bed, his hands palm-up in front of him. His eyes were hollow, though he no longer shed any tears.
Mary brushed the hair back from Elizabeth's face and then turned to the silent gentleman.
"Thank you for bringing my sister home," Mary said, her voice cracking and wavering.
His eyes finally moved, looking over the small room and then finally meeting Mary's gaze.
"No," he rumbled, his voice low and burnt sounding, "Do not thank me for this. Not this."
Mary could take no more. She fled, running back to the sitting room where the rest of her family had gathered.
